


Master of Mort

by jlpierre



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crimes & Criminals, Draco Steals Ya Girl, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Guns, Hermione Trapped In A Mob, Love Triangles, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Tom Riddle Thinks He Owns Hermione, Violence, not HEA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 05:05:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18910135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlpierre/pseuds/jlpierre
Summary: Hermione finds herself involved with a man who will stop at nothing to get what he desires. Her wish is then foiled when she embroils herself in a love triangle that is both deadly and dangerous.





	Master of Mort

**Author's Note:**

> Find Me On Tumblr: [josiepierre](https://josiepierre.tumblr.com)  
> Or on Facebook at [jlpierre](https://www.facebook.com/jlpierrewriter/)  
> 

**Hermione Granger –** **_July 2000_**

* * *

She hated him—or wished she did at least.

His tongue, whatever her mood, usually made her forgetful. Today, Hermione had _forgotten_ her hatred. Misplaced her anger, instead opting to be in love—a fake form of it that appeased him. 

On occasion, he was short-sighted. So full of power he missed the simpler steps, the things beneath his nose. He was intelligent, brilliant, but he wasn't always aware—even if he pretended he was. 

Even as she knew all of that, Hermione found she didn't push him away when his fingers bruised her hips. She didn't resist when his teeth sunk into her bottom lip, lifting her off the ground, as her legs wrapped his waist like they always did. Hermione tried to find a reason to fight this, to resist him, but found herself unable to, her body betraying her once more. It's how she always found herself here. 

Smartest in her class—the top marks when she finished University, and yet here, Hermione was being nothing short of dumb. 

For one, he was the opposite of what she wanted; he was selfish, feral and cruel. But in this place, with these hands and lips and not so innocent touches, he was perfect, each muscle, and each line of his face. Secondly, Hermione had never thought she would be a girl who liked her hair being tugged as a pair of lips smothered hers, her own fingers gently holding his head close to her, forcing him not to let go. She had never expected to like a hand skating up lightly against her thighs, fingers circling the skin beneath the band of her knickers before it was ripped from her skin without caution.

He was all she didn't want, but her body felt the opposite, it acted as though it needed him.

The way he ground her down was embarrassing, but he never allowed her to wallow in it for too long. He was always trying to gently pull her back to the present, using his dark eyes to pierce into her. Then there was the purposeful way he undressed her before removing an item of his own clothing. It was that, very unusual way that he looked at her that made her not feel so bad about what she was doing.

Hermione liked the feel of his knuckles grazing down her cheek, fingers under her chin as he stared into her eyes, wishing he could read her mind, not that she'd ever give him the key.

"Beautiful _as always._ " His voice silky as her hairs stood on end along her skin.

She wanted him. She fucking hated that she wanted him.

"Come for _me_." His teeth were grazing down her neck. "Scream _for_ me, sweetheart ."

She needed him, _this_ , them. With each thrust, each moan, each _right there._ Each, ' _please_   _don't stop'._ Her anger and contempt for him faded until she was as mellow and as weightless as her legs felt.

* * *

**Hermione Granger–** **_July 2000_ **

* * *

Hermione clutched her stomach. It felt bruised, as though she had been punched in her gut.

Her eyes cast over the clean hands that had only hours ago been holding her on top of him. They shouldn't be clean; they should be red, tainted, scarred and bruised. They shouldn't be unmarked, untouched, pale and thin against the white bedsheets beneath his hands. 

She felt sick.

Sweat built on her forehead, her mind racing as each second passed and Hermione found herself more unsure on how to remove herself from this situation.

Sliding over the mattress, bracing every now and again so that he didn't wake from her movements. She prayed the bed wouldn't make a sound, hoping the springs didn't dare to move as her pulse quickened under her skin. It took all she had to raise herself from the bed, feet meeting the cold floor as she brushed her curls behind her ears. She moved out of the room, only breathing when she was on the other side, hands touching the walls as she stepped into the living area, tears threatening to spill. 

Everything burned, her chest, her eyes, and her soul. A fire grew inside of her, from anger and betrayal, but instead of inflicting itself on anyone else, it only tortured her. Mocking her, punishing her for believing he could be any different, thinking she could change him, as though other's hadn't tried before her. 

Hermione let her weight fall against the chaise, her hand gripping the side to steady her, as her other cupped her face. Faces flashed through her mind; people who had gone 'missing', suddenly realising why. 

"You alright, Hermione?"

Her entire frame froze, her skin turned to ice as she slowly dropped her hand. She didn't dare meet his eyes, not wanting to face the monster she knew would be there to greet her.

He gave her no choice, fingers pulling her eyes to look at him, to meet him. His tousled dark locks at all different angles and she hated how her own hands had done that, how her fingers had pulled and tugged at that same hair only hours ago.

"Can you hear me?"

Hermione sharpened her stare, defiance falling over her face. "I can hear you." 

He arched his brow, examining her, hoping for answers without muttering a question. "You wish to explain why you're out here?"

"Tom..."

His other hand ran over his face, his jaw tightening, as he released a sharp sigh. "What? Hm. What _is_ it now?"

His tone was harsh and impatient. Yet, his touch was the opposite. His fingers released his chin, realising her posture wouldn't change. Instead, Tom brushed a hand over her shoulder, gripping it soothingly, as though it would solve all their problems.

"I know," she said in a whisper.

He groaned. "What are you talking about, Hermione?"

His hand held her shoulder as she glared into him, eyes scanning his pale skin, so expressionless, cold almost. She wondered how he had learnt to laugh; questioned how many people he had needed to study to seem human. 

"I _know."_

His dark, ice-cold eyes began to widen as reality hit home to him. That she, Hermione-the-one-who-warmed-his-bed, had figured it out. Figured him all out. 

Tom had forgotten how hungry she was for power, how thirsty for knowledge she was. He had forgotten her because she had allowed him to. She hadn't reminded him of how important she was. 

But no more.

Hermione stood slowly; chin raised higher as he mirrored her both returning to full height. It didn't matter that she was shorter, she held his stare, made up for the difference in anger and resentment. 

"I know that you killed _him,_ Tom."

* * *

**Tom Riddle - July 2000**

* * *

Tom found that Hermione was the only person to smile at him in the enigmatic way she did and make him believe she held all the cards. Most attempted the smile, the smirk, but very few had what it took to sell it. He found the best way to describe her was equivocal; her demeanour changed, so often he found it was the most natural way. Some days she was everything, and other's she was a disappointment; some she was headstrong, some she was weak. 

The only thing he knew for sure was that she was an addiction. She entranced him and captivated his attention without doing much at all. While she didn't dress like the other women, her wit and brain could steal the focus of any man with half a brain cell. Sometimes, Tom needed that more than a short skirt; he rather liked a woman who could argue with him, attempt to put him in his place. Not that anyone, including her, ever fully put him there.

Strong moral fibre ran through her, a passion for defending others flowed behind it. It was an annoying trait, but he knew it would diminish in time.

He felt as though he was under a spell when he was with her, wanting more after each taking. She was a drug he never wished to starve off, needing it in his system to focus, to make the tough decisions that being him required. 

Tom had an inclination that she felt similar, although he knew she wasn't likely to admit it. It was one thing he admired about Hermione, her convictions and how close she kept things to her chest. He found it less annoying than the other parts of her anyway. 

Shrouded in mystery and secrecy, their meetings surreptitious from watchful eyes. He found that it only added to the need for her, the hunger he felt on the days that he didn't see her. Her clothes melting from her frame at his touch, his mouth mapping out her body as he held her close, listening to the groans and moans he craved so abundantly.

Her bronzed back arching as he stroked her pleasure from her, his own never far off before they would crumble down into the mattress. Breathing hitched and desperation met.

No words would be said, although he thought far too many. Hermione would dress without a hint of a question, fixing her curls in the mirror as glances cast between them, the same thoughts running through her mind that were always left unspoken. He had never been this lustful with any other, his interests in females had been next to none, but then she had looked at him, all fake-innocent and interesting, her naïve nature intriguing him. 

A hesitation accompanying a questionable look was present now. It stared at him, pierced through him. The smell of their sex still on them from earlier. Hermione's anger was radiating from her frame, her hands were trembling, and he had never found her more enchanting.

"Why did you, why did you even start this..." Hermione's voice cracked, her eyes filling with angry tears. He wished she wouldn't; it made her less-appealing, more mortal and less powerful. "Why did you make me fall in love with you—o-only to rip me _apart_ at the last moment?"

A simple question she must have thought, one she would never get an answer to. The problem simmered in the air between them, his eyes taking her all in but not altering in their blankness.

"Why do you ruin _everything_ that you touch?"

Tom looked down, his palm running over his own face as he watched her eyes turn to hate, a fire of fury flooding over his skin as he felt it prickle his nerves. He wondered when she would learn that he couldn't burn, that he was immune to what others inflicted on him. 

"I've _lied_ for you. I've been _dishonest_ to the people I care about. People I _love!_ I've protected you—"

"You don't protect me, Hermione. Do not mistake your life with mine. You, do not protect me." 

Her mouth snapped shut, her eyes darkening—he wished it was with lust. Sadly, his life never turned out that way.

He watched her spine straighten, knowing what was to come, but knew he'd need to feign surprise when she said it.

"Get out —"

Tom shook his head, smirking more to annoy her than anything else. "No." 

"I said," she snapped, her arms shoving him backwards, but he didn't stumble—he barely moved.

"I heard you, Hermione."

She looked more broken, more fragile than he had ever seen her. As though the light of her bedroom had undone the spell and shown her for what she was.

Her hand rose, and he wished for her sake she wouldn't do what he knew she wanted to.

And yet she did.

"Get out," Hermione spat, retracting her hand from his cheek. "Get out, _Get Out_!"

He rubbed his cheek, surprised to find no sting at all, no heat from her fury meeting his skin. "You need to listen, and stop acting like a child—"

"I never," she interrupted, her finger hovering an inch from his nose, "want you to speak to me again."

With a handful of his jumper, she shoved him out of the door that she had flung open. He didn't fight it, turning at the last minute to see her slam her bedroom door behind him. An eruption of cries from the other side as he closed his eyes, annoyance swimming inside of him. 

* * *

 

 **Draco Malfoy -** **_November 2000_ **

* * *

The cheap scent of perfume flooded his nostrils before his eyes met the dim lighting that showered the place with ambience. It was a dump by any other name, but it still served alcohol. He immediately met a pair of ice filled eyes from across the bar, her wiry, brunette hair coiled in curls, her black dress low cut and revealed more than she should be in a place like this. It felt like an eternity that they were connected before her eyes looked down to her drink.

The commotion behind him brought him back to the present as he felt a clap of someone's hand on his back, loud, raucous laughter from another's mouth before he was surrounded by those he had been at the warehouse with. He took one last look at the female who was busy admiring someone at a table, moving his eyes to the choice of drink he so desperately wanted.

"Off. _Limits_."

Draco turned to look at the dark-skinned male beside him, his smile broad and could be mistaken for a sneer. Blaise, his partner that day looked at where his eyes had been as if explaining his comment.

" _She_ is off limits. I know you are new around here, but, no."

"Who?"

Taking a drink from the bar as his former smile morphed into a smirk. "I shall say only this... that girl, is _dangerous_. And, she is one of us. She is _family."_

 _'No she can't be,'_ he thought to himself. She was far too pure and beautiful to be associating with low-level criminals. He met Blaise's eyes as he nodded in the assurance of what he had said, but he was still unsure whether to believe him.

"Boss's girl," Blaise added. "Well, before the Boss was Boss. But still, _Boss's girl_. Off limits."

Draco frowned before retrieving a drink that had appeared near him, unsure if it was even what he ordered, but he needed something to quench his drying throat.

"If he is capable of love, or even feelings. He had them for her. The Prince and princess. Happily and devoted they were," Blaise said as he shook his head. 

Draco swallowed, trying to remember all of what was being said. "What changed?"

"Hierarchy," Blaise answered. "You know this business, kill or _be killed_."

The words hung in the air around him for the remainder of the night. He observed her, the way her body moved around the room, the reaction that Theo had to her presence in the room. Most of all he noticed the occasional dark, lingering stare from the Boss's eye in the corner. He saw throughout the evening that he was always watching her, each smile making his jaw tense and each roll of her eyes would cause him to adjust in his seat. It struck him as odd; this straight-laced and agitated man had a weak spot and made it so obvious. He made a mental note to remember this when he awoke from his alcohol-induced hangover.

Questions arose as quickly as others were answered. It seemed that he had signed up for more than he had initially thought and strangely it didn't worry him as much as it should.

* * *

**Draco Malfoy - December 2000**

* * *

He opened his bedroom door to her stood at the foot of his bed, eyes glazed over from the bottle of wine in her hand. Draco liked to think he was an observant man, but clearly, he had missed her making her excuse from the party downstairs at the Manor. The strap of her black dress had slipped down, her lips looking fuller than usual and her chest rising and falling rapidly from being caught. Draco's hand moved to close the door behind him, but his eyes never left her.

"What are you—" he began to ask.

"You like to watch me dance."

It was a statement more than a question, the bottle in her hand suddenly being rested on the floor beside her. She slipped her feet from her shoes, her fair curls falling to her chest as her breasts looked set to pop out from her dress.

"So, sit... and  _watch_."

Her hands held up the silk dress, exposing the lace underwear concealing her as she turned to face the large ornate mirror behind her. Out of surprise, he fell into the chair close to him. The dangerously darkened eyes she was sporting met his through the mirror, her frame swaying to the beat of the thumping music rooms away. He placed the glass on the small table beside him, her dress dropping to its former place, hiding the top of her thighs and sculpted rear he wanted to touch. Her hair fell down, so it trailed down her body on one side. Her eyes never leaving him, running her hands up to the side of her breasts to her neck before her nails and fingers got lost in her curls.

Closing her eyes, his tongue wet his drying lips, her hands cupping all of her hair high above her head as her sweet, long neck was exposed to him.

He couldn't resist for much longer, not as her hair dropped down her back, her lashes flicking up as her hands skated over the thin straps of her dress. Standing up from the armchair, moving across to her in three lunges, pushing her frame into the mirror as he yanked the straps down exposing her perky breasts.

He felt her body arch into his, their eyes meeting, washing him in amber and brown, turning her in his arms to face him. His thumb was reaching to pull down softly on her lip before his lips crashed into hers.

It was wrong; he knew that. 

Even letting her dance, when he knew she was more than an ornament. When she knew the snark, the intelligence most of the other women didn't have or understand. Draco knew, having her here, even having stared at her, could cause his head to be on a spike, but he didn't care. 

Their bodies danced like flames with one another, frantic, sudden movements that were needed and desired. Draco tugged at Hermione's dress that had clung to her shapely waist before it fell to her feet. His hands were moving down her petite frame until they rested on the curve he had admired for so long. His tongue was running over the outline of her lips as he felt her shudder in his hold.

He felt her arch in his hands, his lips moving to her neck before meeting her breast. His hand skating over her rear until it met the back of her thighs, pulling her up around his waist as he crashed her back into the mirror earning him a primal noise.

"I want you," Draco whispered seductively.

"And I, you," Hermione purred back.

The thudding of the music, the taste of the whiskey on her lips and the low lighting only enhanced their hurried movements. Dropping her roughly on the unmade bed, climbing in between her legs, peeling the lace from between her as he raked his nails over her inner thighs. He hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her closer as her legs wrapped around him as he gave her what she most desired.

With each bite of his lower lip, he thrust into harder, her walls tensing around him as he felt himself harden at the image of her in his bed. Her hair sprayed over his perfectly white pillowcases, her hands leaving distinctive marks down his back and as she wrapped herself in him, he didn't want to ever let her leave. Coaxing and pushing for more with each movement, his name on her swollen lips was more than he could handle. All caution had been thrown truly into the wind and as his teeth sunk into her exposed neck, he didn't care.

He had wanted her and he didn't care for rules.

Not this time.

* * *

**Draco Malfoy - December 2000**

* * *

Awaking somewhat disorientated, a blaring headache as he opened one eyes and saw the naked woman beside him. Panic immediately hit him, quickly followed by worry as he stared at her peaceful face. The curves of her backbones, the rise of her spine to her rear and he couldn't help but admire what wasn't covered with the thin sheet. Memories of the night before coming back to him, his eyes meeting the mirror that had prints and smears on from their time together.

He sat up, took one last look at her peaceful state before standing up, heading into the bathroom. The cold water splashed on his face and the image that met him in the mirror frightened him more than he cared to admit.

_When had I become this —a taker. _

His death was going to be imminent if he didn't find a way out of this.

" _She's just off limits, he doesn't want her but wants no one else to either," Blaise voice sounded from memories._

_"Why does she stick around?"_

_"She's got no where else to go, I suppose, none of us do."_

It was like pieces of a puzzle, the tense arguments, the lingering stares and he wondered if he had just entered a game blind—whatever the game was. His fist lashed out before he had a chance to stop it, connecting with the bathroom mirror as shards of glass sliced his skin before falling to the porcelain basin with a crack.

He was meant to blend in, be inconspicuous and not draw all the attention to himself. He was here to do good, not become what he had been set to dismantle. 

Draco was supposed to be better than his name—than them, _this_. 

Slowly, he lifted his eyes as he stared into the one shard that remained in the frame, catching the furious amber eyes from his bed.

And then she was gone with a slam of his bedroom door, only fingerprints on the mirror left behind.

* * *

**Draco Malfoy - February 2001**

* * *

The manor that Tom Riddle owned was huge. More significant than the one Draco had grown up in; larger than the one his school friends had owned. It had been odd when his mother whispered Riddle's name as she lay in the bed, her skin paler than Draco had ever seen. Everyone knew everyone in their circle, and yet no one knew Riddle until the last moment when the tide had changed, and the structure of power shifted.

He had no idea what he was searching for, answers most likely, but to what question, Draco wasn't sure. He had walked around one particular corner of the manor finding distinctive whispers meeting his ears. Draco paused, his loud steps dying out.

Bracing, waiting for silence to greet him before he released his held breath. Whoever was here, knew he was there—he could sense it. 

"—No one is _there_ ," a dark voice spat. 

Draco taking heed moved closer in his determination. He was desperate to hear the house's secrets, having often been left out of the past, but it was on every other man's mind, although they were all too afraid to repeat it all.

"I'm leaving," the voice said and he knew this time whose voice it was. The only female who could say those two words and mean them. "Did you hear me, Tom? I'm leaving."

He laughed mockingly. "You are _not."_

"I think, _you_ are forgetting who you are speaking to, _Riddle_."

Draco's mouth gaped a little, no one ever spoke to him like that. Not even the ones who worked for the law; not even his right-hand man, Severus. 

"I think you are forgetting who _owns_ you, Hermione."

Her laugh, in response, was rich, insulting; full of darkness, hatred and anger. Draco imagined it leaving her dark brown lips, the way her curls would likely dance around her face as she threw her head back to glare into the dark eyes that saw everything.

"You find this situation humorous."

Hermione scoffed, and Draco was surprised her neck wasn't snapped there and then. "I find your desperate plea at warning me humorous. You, do not own me. Not _anymore_."

He heard a thump of something against the wood coating the wall, and he wondered if Riddle's fist had lashed out.

"Scared, _sweetheart_?"

"Of you?" She responded. "Never, maybe in a weaker time, where I was blinded by lust and maybe even love. You emitted danger and power like no one else, but now... you are nothing to me. _Dead_ , even."

Draco heard the rustling of clothes, grunts from her and a low scream that seemed muffled.

"Let me make one thing clear," he heard the boss say, shadows cast against the wall opposite him of what looked like he was holding her. Hand over her lips. "You, are mine. Whether you want to stand by me or not, I _own you_."

His heart was going faster than ever, all set to burst out of his chest and coat the wall in his blood. His hand had reached for the gun in the back of his trousers, a protective urge surging through him as he tried to remain level headed. The taller shadow moved, her head turning.

"Over… my, _dead body_."

"It can be arranged," Riddle quipped darkly.

"I would like to see you try," Hermione snarled before heading in his direction far too quickly, her breath ragged.

Draco took note, before making himself scarce. He wasn't supposed to care; he was supposed to be in and out, do what he needed to, his only job was to clear his families name. And yet his heart was hammering with each step back to his room, a worry for her as much as it had been for him. Draco cared, liked her even **—and knew he wouldn't be able to leave her behind**.

* * *

**Draco Malfoy - February 2001**

* * *

It wasn't unexpected when Hermione came to him, her silk dressing gown dropped to the floor of her feet as she moved past him into his room. Scooping it up as he slammed the door and he felt himself being forced against it.

Dominant and in need of him, her lips brushed over his. His body was failing him as he hardened upon her presence and it wasn't long before he was doing the same dangerous motions with her again. When they crashed to the bed, the feel of her walls stretching for him as he thrust into her, Draco looked at her, noticing the way her eyes shone and the way her skin glowed. He kissed her, softer than he had before; Draco moved his hand between their connected bodies, needing her to grip the bed sheets before he could even think of finishing. 

Her lashes fluttered, and he groaned; she came around him, and Draco lifted her closer to him, driving himself into her until he grunted her name against her skin. 

When their breaths returned, he braced for her exit, her immediate shutting down of who she was around him. But she didn't. Her eyes softly lingered on him as he brought the sheet up against her, attempting to protect her modesty.

"You aren't a monster."

It was simple, and yet weightless.

"I was," he responded, he lay flat against his own pillow and turned on his side to meet her gaze. Memories of children begging, screams of parents, horrid bullying to others. "A _dark_ one at that."

"I've met, seen and danced with a lot of monsters... you _are not_ a monster."

"I would say that you say that to all of us," Draco said softly. "But it seems that is not true."

A smile crept over her lips, her tongue licking at her lips. "It isn't."

"What is it with you and _him_?"

The air became more burdensome, as if the room knew that it was a dangerous territory and had attempted to warn him. Her eyes were harsher and more fixed on him, as if she was judging him.

"I would quip that it's not your business, but you are already making it yours... sneaking up on people in corridors." His heart slowed at her acknowledgement, but his face didn't falter. "He knows what he did, I know what he did. Most people do. But it ended, it is over, and he needs to learn that."

"You love him?"

She frowned and he was unsure if it was down to his phrasing—it had sounded more like he was telling her than asking. It sounded jealous, as though he was bothered, which he guessed, in part, he was. 

"I... _did._  I know I did. I won't. I refuse to lie about that, at least," Hermione whispered.

"But now?"

She turned her face to meet his, her mask having indeed fallen, and he saw the sight of a woman who knew she was in over her head. Draco wanted to tell her it would all be okay, but the longer he stayed—the longer _she_ stayed beside him—he wasn't sure how much that was true. 

Hermione sighed softly, almost weakly. "I'm not even sure I know what love is."

"Who did he kill?"

He saw her eyes simmer, something in them that showed him pain and loss. Something that told him who this person was had left her lonely and broken. Shattered her and made her the hard, resourceful and merciless person she was now. It was even possible to see the woman she was prior to this, a laughing, happy and kind woman.

"He killed someone you loved, didn't he?" He pushed, knowing he was close to the truth.

Tears were brimming. "Doesn't he always?"

* * *

**Tom Riddle -** **_May 2001_ **

* * *

Tom couldn't have her.

He knew that. He couldn't have her and be King. 

She was no queen, not that she wished to be. Hermione wasn't someone who wanted to sit in a throne and be bowed to. Hermione wanted to be king, she wanted to be the head of it all, but she wouldn't take it from him.

Hermione's words had slapped him in his chest; her cold, hard eyes were staring into him even if she had long gone. He had stood against the wood of the house for a long time, he replayed their fight and picked up on things he hadn't noticed in the presence.

Her lingering lust that had taken him from his morals once, her passion that was set to destroy him. Her once permanent hate was only fluctuating at making its presence known and he missed her, terribly.

She was beautiful. Always.

She was his weakness and he knew that wouldn't change.

He didn't feel bad for his choices, because he had so much more to give, and he needed the power to do it.

To kill was _better_ than to be killed.

He was crossed, and they had needed to pay for it.

It was logical, and she appreciated logic—she always had.

He clenched his eyes, his fingers rubbing together as if her skin was between them. How he wanted to touch her, coax her name from his lips and watch her hips thrust into his.

A woman had never weakened him, but she was just no ordinary woman and she had broken him. She had attempted to change and morph him, but he was far too gone by this point.

She was maddening as she held this appealing and annoying trait of making him feel stupid and weak. She had once made him laugh like no other had; she had even made him question beliefs and policies. Just for a second

But not now.

It was better this way, safer.

She was _safe._ She would always be _safe._

His _Hermione, would always_ be _safe._

* * *

**Draco Malfoy -** **_July 2001_ **

* * *

Something about the day was off; the hammering of fists on doors as they collected debts seemed, pointless to him, almost trivial. The beatings of a man who had failed to pay his dues had been rather boring, and the quiet drink in _The Requirement Room_ after a busy day was truthfully mundane.

 _He_ was there. The Boss. His snake-like-arm around a half dressed female, his loose black curls perfect as always. His half smile reeking of boredom and spite mixed with a conniving look that made him worry.

Looking at him, he knew what had originally interested her. He was handsome, he was vastly intelligent and he was careful. Each word was meticulously thought of before speaking. He stunk of power and he dominated a room the moment he entered it.

Draco couldn't understand how there was no mark on him, no scar from a battle he must have won to be where he was. There was no sign he had fought for all of this, and yet here he was, a sea of dead men behind him, and he stood victorious.

He was pulled from his thoughts as he caught sight of daylight had burst into the dark bar, the music was low, so the sound of her heels was noticeable. The chants of ' _hellos_ ' from the others welcomed her, but he didn't turn, his eyes fixed on the Boss as he, like every other time, turned to see her.

She was his _Achilles Heel —both of theirs, _Draco snorted to himself. She was as much of a weakness to him as she was to Riddle.  He could see it now, clear and bright, wondering how he had never seen it before. The downfall of the whole operation was held between her chest and her knickers.

"Malfoy? Want a drink?" Theo shouted, breaking his visual on the boss he turned to face him, curtly nodding.

He took the drink and looked at the sunken eyes that belong to Theo, his demeanor was off and altered. Following them to her statue at the end of the bar, her face pale and withdrawn. Many questions hammered his mind, but he knew that now was not the time or place.

"She's sad."

Draco frowned. "You seem troubled by this."

"Of course, I am."

Draco sneered. "And why is that apparently so obvious?"

Theo almost choked on his drink, a look on his face of disbelief—a sheer betrayal across Theo's face that Draco _didn't_ get it. "Because she's family."

Draco shrugged simply, because although that word was thrown around a lot, it didn't hold much in their actions. They would kill those who betrayed, they would punish for small mistakes and attempted to make it all ok with a simple ' _we are family'._

"I thought we were all family," Draco snarled as he sipped upon the cold liquid in his glass.

"She's my sister, alright?" Theo finished. "My actual, hold hands as we went on the swings, kind-of-sister. My twin."

Draco's eyes nearly fell out of his head. " _What_?"

"He got her involved in all of this, because he wants what he can't have," Theo's snapped. His tone was much darker than usual, almost murderous. "I didn't know, not for fucking years. She was raised by... brought up by some common folk. Mum tried to protect her; Dad tried to hide her, pretend to others she had fucking died to keep her from all of this. And—and, I'm meant to protect her, and I can't even get _through_ to her."

He stared at the bar, a buzzing sound occurring in his ears as Draco tried to remain present. 

"She's going to fucking die because of me, Malfoy," Theo said in a whisper, a troubled one at that. "I don't know how to save her." 

* * *

**Tom Riddle –** **_September 2001_ **

* * *

There was something beautiful about watching someone kill for the first time. Tom had liked the feel of taking someone's life, removing their existence from the world, and the way the light dimmed from their eyes. But, he liked watching others do it far more. Their hesitant breathing, the shaking of their extended arm.

Hermione's sunken frame was in front of him; he could see the quiver of fear and doubt in her hands and fingers, but she had brought them here, all of them. Her wishful ways to leave him had failed as expected. The half-brained idiot in front of them that had tricked her, tricked _his girl._

"He's used you," Tom said in a whisper into her ear before he continued to pace behind her. "What would you have done sweetheart, if I had not have stepped in? He wanted to hurt you."

"Don't you all," she whimpered, meaning it to be a growl.

He almost wished to compliment her on her fire, but that would have deemed it acceptable. It wasn't. None of this was.

"You cannot escape me."

Her eyes looked over her shoulder, trying to muster hatred, but her pain was all that evident. "You'll see through with that, _won't you_ Tom?"

Her words sliced against him, once filled with love and adoration now full of hatred. It was a pity they bounced off him, not even coming close to hurting him. He had allowed her once to have one go at that, and she had wasted it pitifully.

Tom's eyes burned into the kneeling man in front of her, his dirty brown hair at other angles, his pleading look on his face that hid his true motives, the dried crusted blood on his chin.

"He does not care for you, not like _me_."

"No one cares about me," she responded dryly. “Least of all you.”

"I do."

Her head turned, her eyes meeting his and for a single second, he forgot about the rest of the group behind him. One of those Earth resonating moments where they shared their past, the one that had gone on between them. It flurried in front of them, reminding them and making them both weak. His heart beat an extra beat, her eyes widened as he stared into them.

He took a step forward, pressing the gun that was in his hand into hers.

"He _wanted_ to hurt you."

Some part of him wanted her to end this man's life, to take and stop being a hypocrite. But another part of him knew better, she sought to daze and put to sleep, but never to kill. Each flick of her heel, each punch from her fist, all directed to a place to hurt and not end.

"You don't think I can do this," Hermione said, her eyes moving to his gun. "You _think_ I'm too weak."

"Those words never left my mouth, _sweetheart_."

Her hand raised the gun, her thumb cocking the chamber as she rested her index at the trigger. Her eyes turned to meet his.

"I wish this was you," Hermione whispered, her eyes returning to the whimpering man on the floor as her finger clicked the trigger, the bullet zooming from the chamber, through the air, wind and rain not slowing it down.

Her eyes were hardening as she held his stare, her smirk rising as the bullet connected with the man's skull and the sound of his body collapsing against the gravel. His eyes focused on her shot; if this was someone else, he knew he'd applaud them. But the slap of his gun into his chest brought his focus to her.

"I hate you. I will _always_ hate you."

His hand taking the gun as her eyes swiftly passed over his before she stalked of behind him, her heels making him flinch with each step.

"Someone clean this up," he shouted to the group. His feet still stuck to the place he stood. His jaw clenched as he saw her climb into his black car, slamming it behind her as the engine ignited and she drove from the car park.

* * *

**Draco Malfoy –** **_September 2001_ **

* * *

"I bought you a drink," his hand offering the whiskey tumbler as he attempted to smile sincerely.

"Thank you."

He stood for a moment and watched her with caution, expecting a fit of anger or tears before remembering she wasn't like other women.

"I can't be broken."

Draco smiled. "I see that." 

"He wants to break me. _Tom_. He wants to break me because then he can _fix_ me."

Draco didn't know what to say. Mainly because the truth was far too hurtful to whisper, and he had come to quite like her, really care for her.

"He's not aware I'm already broken, he can't see that he _already_ broke me," Hermione added drunkenly, her words sounding off. "I never wanted this, _or him._ "

"Then why—"

"Do I stay?" Hermione asked dejectedly.

Draco nodded half-heartedly, his hand running through his white blonde hair, moving it from his forehead. He found his chest rising and falling quicker, a need to brush a curl behind her ear, tell her it would be all okay soon. But he couldn't. He was trapped, and so was she. 

"Because you can _never_ leave. He has you, _forever._ There is no escape. I have tried, failed. I was meant to be a singer, or an engineer, or even a cafe owner. But here I am, fondling men for information and knocking out people for money. I killed a man today, because I have to protect, I have to save him. I had to end someone's life to save another, that's what he wants me to know, that is what he wants me to see, but I won't, I can't—"

Draco suddenly connected with what she was saying, sliding into the chair beside her as she flinched. "Who, Hermione? Who are you saving?"

Her eyes full of fear and pain, her lip trembling as she raised the glass to her lips, downing the contents without a gasp.

Draco placed his hand on hers, nodding in assurance he could be trusted.

A year ago, fuck, even his whole life he knew he had never deserved her. He'd have done this for nothing, become one of the Eaters' for something to do. But now, with the job he had been given, and her eyes staring at him, Draco wanted to deserve her. He wanted to finish this, see it to the end, maybe saving her and being worthy of her.

"Hermione, look... I can't explain it, but you can trust me, I'm not like the others—"

"Theo," Hermione said suddenly. "He wants—he wants us to leave."

* * *

**Draco Malfoy –** **_September 2001_ **

* * *

He hadn't fancied drinks, he was tired, _annoyed_ even. He wanted a hot shower and to soak the blood off from his skin, he wanted to wash away the memories of anguished faced, just for one night. Just so he could sleep without relying on alcohol to numb his subconscious. The information from a week ago still swirled around his sub-conscious.

He hadn't seen her since, her bedroom door never opening to no one. Well, except _him_. Draco had seen him leave on two occasions and both times he felt this surge of anger at the sight.

Draco had heard the door of his boss's room open, his eyes catching sight in the mirror of her disheveled figure. Tears present on her cheeks, his hand tugging her back.

" _Do you know what you do to me?"_ Draco had heard Riddle say. " _I want to hate you._ "

" _Then, let me go!_ " Hermione had sobbed her body attempting to pull from Riddle's hold.

Draco clenched his eyes shut, ignoring the need to save her, to help her.

" _Please… let me go, Tom."_

She was not the one he was after. She wasn't his task, his mission.

It wasn't her he was here to undo, to bring down and push into the light. Draco was here for retribution, and honestly, because he wanted to be better than all of this. He was tired of fighting for other people, murdering for a greater good he couldn't see. Draco was tired, wanting nothing more than a picket fence and a good book. 

 _"I can't,_ " Riddle had said as Draco opened his eyes and looked in the mirror at the end of the hall, it giving him a window into their conversation. _"I love you."_

He hated what he was hearing. He hated how jealous he felt, how angry he was at the words being said to her—how much he wanted to pull the gun from his waistband and fire it until it couldn't be fired anymore. 

Draco hated that he too, loved her. 

" _This isn't love, Tom. This isn't even a healthy friendship, never mind much more," her hands were on her chest. "I was something you wanted, that you had to collect and have. But… I'm not an object."_

_"You're mine."_

His fist clenched at his side, the back of Draco's head met the wall. 

_"I'm not something you collect, I'm a person."_

_"Oh, I know that._ " Draco watched as Riddle lifted his hand, slowly reaching out to touch her cheek, caressing it slowly. _"I'll never forget it."_

_"I want out Tom. I want... to be away from y—"_

Draco's insides ran cold at the sound of the skin contact, as Riddle shoved her into the wall, he could see the tense muscles on his bare back, his arms holding her tight as his fingers turned white. Her face turned away from him but the anguish was clear on her face.

"You don't listen, do you?" His words were full of anger. "You never _fucking_ listen!"

Draco watched as her shoulder rose, her face turning back to him as he wished that she'd remain quiet.

_"Maybe you can fuck a slut in our bed, maybe you can threaten me a bit more or why don't you fucking kill another member of my family again... maybe that will get my ears working!"'_

And Draco felt his own back connect with the wall, the reason that she hadn't left, pieces of a puzzle he had never thought he'd get. The reason that she had stayed and Theo was so fiercely protective over her.

Tom Riddle _had_ killed Nott Snr. Tom Riddle had killed her father.

The father she hadn't known she had, the one who had sent her away, to protect her. 

It wasn't an accident like Riddle had pleaded.

It wasn't an unfortunate situation, it was planned and it was on purpose.

Tom Riddle killed to get to the top, to run the show, to become the _Master of Mort, the Master of Death._

* * *

**Tom Riddle -** **_October 2001_ **

* * *

People, made assumptions that he wasn't as aware of what went off around him like his predecessors had been. They suspected the walls didn't whisper their secrets and indiscretions, that he didn't know every bullet that was tired or every knife that had met skin. People believed he didn't take his role seriously.

But he saw all. He knew all. He did take it seriously. 

Tom rotated his gun on his finger, the silver of it catching the light as it lit his face with each swirl. He surveyed the many eyes of his team.

_His family._

Straightening his spine, running his left hand through his hair, Tom caught sight of her frightened eyes. Her _beautiful_ , frightened eyes.

"There is a snake amongst us," he yelled, his voice echoing around the room.

His shoes were sounding louder on the warehouse floor as silence remained throughout them all. He liked the sound, the deathly quiet noise that meant respect. 

"A _snake_ that wishes to destroy the equilibrium that we have built—that we own, that we love."

His dark eyes met hers at the word love, her lips parting ever so slightly as he did.

_'No one can have you.'_

Tom held her stare, watching her face twist into fury. It was a look he had come to love just as much as the one she had when she begged him to make her see the stars.

' _I love you.'_

She scowled, and he was sure he heard her say, _'You love yourself."_

_'We'll play this the hard way,"_

"Come forward, _Malfoy_ ," he called.

The air was sucked from the room, and Tom thrived off of it. He wanted to bottle the feeling as his skin ran cold, and panic flooded amongst his men. 

"Do not be shy now," Tom added, his gun rotating one full turn on his finger but he held the handle. "I assure you, I won't bite."

The sound of the blond's shoes on the floorboards gave him an immediate satisfaction. They would all know—the _friend_ they had begun to trust and love. The man that had wormed his way in without any distinctive talent, the man that had stunk of pigs and wore his family name as though he was proud of it.

"Do you want to tell them, _or_ shall I?" 

Draco Malfoy, the man who had begged for a chance, for a job, the blond who had wished to prove himself. The grey-eyed fool who had wished to deceive him and take what was not his.

He watched closely as the blonde turned to look at her, attempting to catch her eyes, probably to apologise like the slobbering fool that he was. But her eyes did not meet his, they did not meet grey, they were fixed on darkness and they were fixed on him. The Boss, the leader, _the one._

"Fine," Tom said loudly. "Malfoy, here, is an _officer of the law_. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Draco's face snapped to face his, panic and fear, it was running wild like a free horse in his eyes. Tom raised his arm, the gun pointing at him.

"Tom…" her voice whispered in the silence. " _Don't_."

His eyes moved to hers as he saw that she had broken rank from the others and she had moved from the constraints of her brother's arms.

"I… love you, _please_? Don't," she begged. "Don't kill him…"

He wanted to believe her; he wanted desperately to be able too. Most of all, Tom had wanted to trust her. He wanted them to be the King and Queen of Mort. He wanted her to be singing in The Room of Requirement, he wanted to hold her close to him at night and feel alive like they once had.

"It's okay," Malfoy said, as though he had any idea what move he had made.

Tom watched as they mixed grey and amber, fear on top of fear swirling together and it became apparent that he was already too late. She was not _his_ now; she was Malfoy's. She had gone into his room and taken more from him than she should have. And that was something Tom could not stand.

It dawned on him rather quickly that this would not be the only time. That she made him weak, that he was vulnerable as long as she was here—aAs long as she existed.

Tom's hand steadied, pressing down on the trigger as the sound that came from it drowned out the screams and the protests around him. He could just hear the bullet, the sound it made as it travelled, the way it contorted as it bent through the air. Until it met skin. The sound of it parting as it connected to the bone beneath it, then the gasp that emerged from the lips of who it had met.

Then all of a sudden he heard everything else, the almighty scream from Theo Nott, the thud as her head met the floor beneath her. He swore he even saw her eyes roll into the back of her head. Those beautiful, amber, wide eyes, forever gone from the world.

His shoulders relaxed, sighing as he turned to face the grey pair of eyes that were fixed on him, panic running through them as Tom gritted his teeth as he filled the blond with all the fear the man could take.

"She was, and always will be, _mine_ ," Tom snarled. "You could never have what belongs to me, Malfoy." 

Tom turned the gun in his hand, a sick sort of Russian roulette as he tilted his head as he gritted his jaw. 

Draco smirked, as though he had won. "You'll go down, Riddle." 

Laughing, Tom sighed before he lifted the gun and aimed it at his head. "Run, little pig. _Run_."

* * *

 


End file.
